Sunday, April 10, 2011

NaPo 9 - Silence

The minute hand should take some time,slow down, holdthe hour hand, gentle, andstill. I don’t think it understandsjust how slow it can go - like now,in your arms, where the edge of yourshoulder is a horizon dawnbreaks upon, and I want to take the timeto savor the moment, readthe secrets spelled out invertebrae, trace the hourscontoured in muscle -

time sleeps here, gets lostin itself, even though I want totake every 60 seconds, in every60 minutes, just to try and tracea new word for love in your skin,a new touch that says what Ican never say, leave ittingling there so it can’t beforgotten, so it can whisperin the quietest of hours -

the solemn times when theminute hand is just runninglaps too quickly to hear the

music I want to play on yourpiano rib-cage, play upon thealignments running along yourtendons, allow the sound toecho from so deep beneath yourlips -

it feels like music here, the acousticsin my hazy head can ring for ages, it’sso open, yet the only air I havecomes from your body, and I feel as thoughit’s the only thing I can breathe here, I needthat rhythm, that beat I can transcend to,and time won’t exist there, justcollective streams of sensationrunning for the ocean, tidesof beauty crashing over,

there’s so much musicin every moment,

and I want to take the timeto hear it, to sound it outfrom my pounding chestuntil the hand of my inner clockrealizes it just needs tostop,